CHAPTER 1
“I thought you said she was here, Enis.”
“That’s what I was told, Evelyn,” Enis replies with a heavy sigh of disappointment. “The guard watching the cabin’s security camera footage said he saw Jules in here raiding the liquor cabinet.”
“Grab all the bottles out of the cabinet and take them back to Grace House,” Evelyn instructs him, sounding irritated. “We don’t need to indulge her need for self-destruction. You would think after five years she would have gotten over what happened to Timothy.”
“How does anyone get over someone they love dying like that?” he questions her. “Especially someone like Jules.”
Evelyn sighs. “I don’t know, but drowning herself in alcohol isn’t going to magically make all of her pain go away. I’m just not sure when she’ll realize that fact.”
“Jules is strong,” Enis says confidently. “She’ll come around in time.”
“Well, until that miracle occurs, I refuse to encourage her drinking habit. Grab what you can and meet me back home.”
Evelyn phases out of the room while Enis walks over to the liquor cabinet against the far wall of the living room. He bends down and opens the doors to peer inside. After seeing more than twenty bottles of alcohol, he whistles in amazement and shakes his head. He closes the doors, stands to his full height, and places his hands on top of the cabinet before phasing, presumably deciding it’s the easiest way to take the large number of bottles back with him.
I lean away from the edge of the picture window and prop my back up against the wood planks on the outside of the cabin, exhaling a sigh of relief. I didn’t want to face my mom or Uncle Enis. Especially not tonight of all nights. I lift up the bottle of vodka in my right hand and take a long swig, both loving and despising the burning sensation the liquid makes as it clears a path from my mouth straight to my stomach. After drinking my fill, I walk over to the edge of the back porch and sit down heavily on the top step of the stairs that lead down to the backyard. I faintly take note of the axe jutting out from the stump of a felled tree. I don’t remember putting it there and can only assume it was something the previous occupants of my abandoned home left behind. I wanted to sell this cabin, but my mom talked me out of it. She reminded me that not all of my memories associated with this house were bad ones. Once upon a time, it was a happy home, filled with love and possibilities for a bright future.
I take another swig of vodka to blur a frequent unwanted visitor of mine: guilt.
“Does that help?” a strange woman’s voice asks unexpectedly.
I look up and see the woman standing beside the axe and tree trunk I just noticed. Her long blonde hair hangs straight past her shoulders. She’s wearing a black empire waist dress with short, beaded sleeves and a long flowing skirt. Her right hand is resting on the knob of the axe handle, and I vaguely wonder if she intends to pull it out and kill me with it. I know exactly who she is because I was counting on her to eventually come back here one day.
“Hello, Helena,” I say with a slight slur. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Helena tilts her head to the left as she scrutinizes my disheveled appearance. It occurs to me that I haven’t bathed in three days and probably look and smell as horrible as I feel. Whatever. My puny existence may be snuffed out in the next few seconds anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. As a reflex, I use my free hand to brush some wayward strands of hair hanging over my face to the side. As I watch Helena continuing to observe me, I find myself wishing my hair was the same color blonde as hers. Even in just the light given off by the moon, it glistens with an otherworldly luster. That combined with the glow of her flawless pale skin and sparkling blue eyes gives the misguided impression she’s an angel sent straight from Heaven, instead of being Hell itself personified in human form.
“I’ve seen you before,” she says, narrowing her eyes on me. “In Evelyn Grace’s nightclub. You’re her daughter, right? This cabin used to belong to you and your late husband.”
“Score two points for the little lady,” I reply sarcastically. “She’s right on both counts.”
Helena straightens her head and tilts it down slightly as her stare becomes more sinister. “I wouldn’t be impertinent with me if I were you. Since you know my name, I assume you realize what I can do to you.”
“Kill me?” I scoff. “Bring it on, sister. At least it would save me the trouble of figuring out how to do it myself. This stuff,” I say, holding up the vodka bottle, “is the coward’s way out. It’s probably the slowest suicide of all time, but it has to work its magic eventually, right?”
Helena narrows her eyes at me but not angrily. What I’ve said seems to have piqued her curiosity. Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s even more dangerous than her wrath.
“And what tiny human problem has caused you to feel so apathetic about your mortality?” she asks.
“One that you can probably sympathize with,” I reply cautiously, watching for her reaction to my next words. “I killed the man I loved.”
Helena remains deathly still, not giving away any emotional response to my confession. She continues to stare at me as she asks, “Well, since it’s obvious you know my story, I think it’s only fair that you tell me yours. How exactly did you kill your mate?”
To buy myself some time to contemplate whether or not I want to answer her question, I bring the lip of my vodka bottle up to my mouth and drink what’s left until it’s completely dry. By that time, my mind is so fuzzy I actually forget what it was we were talking about.
Since the bottle in my hand is useless to me now, I let it slip from my fingers and roll down the wooden steps to the ground.
“Well?” Helena asks rather aggressively. “How did you kill him?”
When I look up at her again, I find three Helenas staring at me now. I have to squint to squeeze them all together into one figure.
“What’s it to you?” I ask her belligerently, throwing caution to the wind with my tone. “Why do you want to know so badly?”
Helena shrugs a delicate shoulder. “I’m curious to know whether or not your soul will be mine one day,” she states simply.
I lean to my left and rest my head and shoulder against the wooden post of the porch railing before closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at Helena’s expectant face.
“Maybe it will,” I answer. “Maybe it won’t. I’m not sure what side of the fence my soul is on to tell you the truth.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you did and let me judge your fate,” she suggests.
“And ruin the surprise?” I try to joke as I force myself to open my eyes again and look at her. “Now why would I want to do that? There are so few surprises in life. I don’t think I want to ruin the last one I’ll ever have.”
“You do realize who I am, don’t you?” she asks threateningly. “I can make you tell me the story by force, but trust me when I say that you’ll wish you were dead afterwards.”
“That type of threat doesn’t really work on me,” I tell her wearily, closing my eyes again. “Whatever you do to me, I deserve it for what I did to Timothy. In fact, do your worst. I’ve earned it.”
Seconds pass. Then minutes. Helena remains silent, and I assume she’s probably phased away. When I open my eyes again, I’m surprised to find her standing at the foot of the stairs, studying me as though I’m an insect she’s considering stepping on.
“Do it,” I dare her, half hoping she’ll take me up on my offer.
Unexpectedly, Helena smiles. “Although I would love nothing better than to torture you, I get the feeling not torturing you will hurt even more. You’re too eager to die, and I’m afraid that takes all the fun out of it for me.”
In what seems like an unconscious move, I watch as she rests her hands on the prominent baby bulge jutting out from her otherwise slim figure.
“They’re looking for you, you know,” I tell her. “Those War Angels from Earth. They seem pretty desperate to take your baby away from you.”
“I’m aware of their idiotic quest,” Helena says as if the subject bores her. “They’ve been using my Nexus to search for me, as if I can’t sense what they’re doing there.”
“I assume you phased outside the cabin because you know they have cameras set up on the inside.”
“Exactly.”
“What I don’t understand is why you came back here at all. He isn’t here, you know. He’s dead, and he’s never coming back.”
Helena’s smile slips as her expression returns to a reserved one.
“I’m fully aware of that fact,” she informs me tersely. “And why, pray tell, are you here? I was told you abandoned this cabin after your husband died.”
I shrug. “I guess I keep hoping I’ll find something that will trigger a memory about our lives together that I’ve forgotten about. It would be like being given one last gift of time from him.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re deserving of a gift considering you’re somehow responsible for his death.”
“If he’s forgiven me for what I did, I will.”
Helena begins to laugh, and I inwardly cringe at the sound it makes. Her laughter resonates like the cries of thousands of tortured souls. I don’t know if that’s actually how it sounds or if my own guilt is causing me to filter it that way.
“Would you like to share what you find so funny?” I ask her angrily. I don’t know why I told Helena, of all people, why I keep coming back to the cabin. Not even my mom or Uncle Enis know the real reason.
“I just deem it amusing that you think the dead can tell you anything beyond the grave, much less leave you a loving keepsake that will absolve your soul of its guilt. Thank you for sharing your delusion with me. I was in desperate need of a good laugh.”
“I guess it takes a rare talent to make the queen bitch of Hell laugh. Should I take it as a compliment?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Oh well, I guess a girl can’t have everything.”
“No one person can have everything.”
“Not even someone as powerful as you?”
Helena is silent for a few seconds before replying, “Least of all me.”
I watch as her gaze drifts up to the second floor of the cabin.
“I see you had the window I broke repaired,” she comments dryly.
“My mother had it fixed.”
“Did she also replace the piano I shoved through it?”
“No. I told her not to bother.”
Helena looks at me quizzically before asking, “Was there a reason why you didn’t want a new one?”
“It was my husband’s piano. I don’t play. So there was no reason to replace it.”
“One less thing of his for you to dispose of, I suppose.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
I notice Helena grimace slightly, as if she just experienced an unexpected pain. She rubs the front of her belly up and down as if to soothe an ache.
“Baby kicking?” I ask out of politeness.
“Yes. He kicks quite often now. I believe he’s ready to be born.”
“Yeah. That’s what I figured. The War Angels have tripled the bounty for you in the last few days. Whenever someone does that, it means they’re running out of time to find the person they’re looking for.”
“I can’t believe they put a bounty out on me,” Helena says with a contemptuous roll of her eyes. “It makes me sound like I’m a common criminal.”
“Maybe that’s the way they see you. You did kill one of their own kind.”
“But not on purpose,” Helena is quick to clarify.
“Either way you look at it, Cade is dead and you’re the one who killed him, whether you meant to or not. In their eyes, I don’t think it really matters. All I know is that there’s a lot of money to be made off bringing you in before that baby is born, and I intend to take the Empress of Cirrus’ cash one day.”
“That’s laughable,” Helena scoffs. “A drunkard like you bringing me in. How exactly do you intend to do that?”
“Oh, I didn’t say I would be the one to bring you in, just cash in on the bounty.”
“Same question: How do you intend to work that miracle?”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bounty hunter if I told you all of my trade secrets.”
Helena winces again, but this time her breathing pattern changes and she acts like she can’t take in a deep breath. I stand from my seat and hold onto the railing as I make my way down the four steps to her. She’s bent over slightly at the waist as she tries to compose herself.
“Do you need a doctor?” I ask her, lightly cupping her bent elbow with one hand to help steady her.
Helena shakes her head vigorously. “No. I don’t need a doctor.”
“Have you even been to a doctor since you found out you were pregnant?”
“No,” she says with finality, as if it’s a closed subject.
“If this is an abnormal pain, you need to go see a doctor,” I advise her.
“Nothing about this pregnancy has been natural,” she assures me. “I don’t need a doctor to tell me something I already know.”
It only takes me a second to figure out why Helena is refusing medical attention.
“Are you scared of what they’ll tell you about the baby?” I ask her. “I overheard some of the War Angels placing bets on whether it will come out looking human or like something else.”
“And I will make them regret placing wagers on my child’s well-being,” Helena says vehemently between labored breaths.
“I don’t think they meant any disrespect to the baby,” I reply, “just to you.”
“I could care less what those half-wits think about me,” Helena declares. “And you can tell them that they’re fools if they believe I’ll willingly hand over my son to them.”
“How do you know it’s a boy?” I ask in surprise. “I thought you said you hadn’t been to a doctor yet. Did you do a ultrasound on yourself or something to find out?”
“I don’t need to look at him,” she tells me, wrenching her elbow out of my grasp. “I just know.”
Helena phases to points unknown by me, because I’m not an angel, but I do know a couple who can follow the phase trail she left behind. As quickly as my alcohol-numbed legs will take me, I head back into the cabin’s interior. As soon as I step inside through the backdoor, I wave at the camera stationed on the opposite wall, knowing the guard on duty ordered to keep watch will see me and get word to either Uncle Enis or my mother that the prodigal daughter has returned.
I lean against the door opening to wait for someone to show up. Less than a minute passes before the dynamic duo make their appearance.
Of course my mother shows up impeccably dressed. She’s wearing a well-tailored white pantsuit that would look silly on any other woman her age. Her long blonde hair is styled loosely in waves that cascade past her shoulders. The look of disapproval on her face is the only thing marring her beauty.
“Oh, Jules,” my mother says disappointedly as she takes in my drunken state, “when will you stop torturing yourself like this?”
“No time soon,” I answer, because it’s the truth. I’m not in the mood to discuss my lack of virtues with my mother yet again, so I quickly change the subject. “Helena was just here.”
“Where?” Uncle Enis is quick to ask, taking a step forward as he readies himself to go where I direct.
Sweet, loyal Uncle Enis. If he wasn’t my “uncle,” I could have easily fallen in love with him. Sure, he is handsome with his chiseled looks and curly brown hair, but it is his soul I love. It’s almost impossible for me to believe he used to work with Lucifer when that particular devil was earthbound. In fact, he and mom only recently left Lucifer’s employ, as it were. After Lucifer returned to Heaven, he left the rest of the rebellion angels to fend for themselves. From what I understand, that certainly caused a ruckus among the angels he left behind. Most of them felt abandoned and decided to try and make Lucifer’s daughter, Anna (the empress of the cloud city of Cirrus on Earth), pay for his rejection of them. My mom said God pretty much put the kibosh on the rebellion angels’ plans for revenge, and the leader of the rebels, Hale, is still trying to figure out a way to exact his vengeance on Anna. I don’t see that happening anytime soon, though. He lost over half his supporters after God’s interference. I figure he’s going to need some time to lick his wounds and reorganize before he tries anything else.
“She was out back at the foot of the steps,” I tell him.
He immediately phases. I turn around to look back outside and ask him, “Can you still see her phase trail?”
“Yes,” he answers, but I notice he doesn’t phase to wherever Helena has scampered off to.
My mother walks up behind me to peer out into the backyard over my shoulder.
“She’s in Hell,” my mother informs me, obviously being able to see Helena’s phase trail from where she stands. “She must have known you would contact us and went to the one place she knew we couldn’t follow her to.”
“And why is that exactly?” I ask. “You used to go back and forth to that place all the time. Why can’t you go there now?”
“Hell is Helena’s domain. If she wants to be left alone, that’s where she goes because she can block anyone else from entering. I’ve told you this before, Jules. More than once in fact.”
The condescension in my mother’s voice grates on my nerves. I don’t know why she expects me to remember every little detail about angels. It’s hard enough these days for me to remember how to walk in a straight line, much less keep up with her kind’s peculiarities.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, feeling the full effects of the alcohol in my body kick in as my eyelids become too heavy to keep open any longer. “She’ll have to come up for air eventually, and when she does, I’ll be able to find her.”
“Tough talk coming from a drunkard,” my mother replies, but not unkindly. Her voice is simply filled with the usual disdain for my current state. I feel her place her hands on my arms and pull my body back against her, because she knows I’ll be passing out soon and will most likely end up flat on my face if left unattended. There’s only so many times you can break your nose without it making your face look odd. “How exactly do you plan to work such a miracle, Jules?”
My mom might be a thorn in my side most of the time, but she’s one of the few people in my life I know I can count on and trust.
“I put a tracer on her,” I say right before sleep has a chance to claim my conscious mind, providing me a small respite from the real world. “You better get in touch with those War Angels and let them know so they can be ready to pony up the dough they’ll owe me when I find her.”
“Good girl,” I hear my mom whisper in my ear as she accepts my full weight against her.
I know she’ll take care of me. She’s done it more times over the last five years than I care to think about. One day, I hope I can break away from my self-indulgent pity fest, but today isn’t that day. No amount of alcohol can make me forget what I came home to on this night five years ago, and I fear it might take an act of God to change the path of self-destruction I’m heading down now. Miracles might happen on Earth on a regular basis, but in my world, they’ve been few and far between.